Justin Law: a Ward from the Desert
by aeriform
Summary: The road to obtaining the rank of Death Scythe is often burdened with sacrifices. Of course, the journey must start somewhere. Originally a work for LJ's prompt-style community: 42 souls.
1. Chapter 1: January

"Oh, my Lord…" Upon one knee, this young man prayed while his palm rest upon the parched earth beneath him. As he prayed, the bass of a lively beat could be heard coming from those headphones he wore. This was a familiar place to him, for nearly a decade beforehand he lay at this very same place, praying for death to ease his suffering.

Justin Law slowly rose to his feet, his hand grasped the crucifix which hung from his neck. Death City stood quite a distance away, the place where God dwelled to seal away evil, standing out in this unforgiving place as an oasis of people which kept the harmony of existence in balance. He finished his prayer, closing his eyes to recall the last time he looked upon the city in such a manner. "Grant these people comfortable lives and deaths."

The young weapon ran aimlessly in the desert for his very life. The wind made bullets out of normally harmless grains of sand. This sandstorm was quite unusual for the month of January, and the temperature of the desert remained unforgiving to this frightened child. On his own in the world, he wandered toward the only beacon of hope in this endless desert: a faint, dark outline of a figure which stood out amongst the sand, which appeared quite unlike the mountains off in the horizon.

As Justin inched closer and closer, his knees gave out beneath him. At first, he sat up within the sand, but soon after fell face first upon the ground. Cuts from sand carried by the wind stung mercilessly as his cheek rest upon the ground, and the last thing he recalled seeing was that dark outline in the distance. Maybe he'd closed his eyes, or maybe he blacked out from exhaustion: his memory couldn't recall that detail. Yet, he knew the one thing he hoped for; a release from this hell, even death itself.

The boy, however, was spared such a fate. For in the evening, a group of travelers headed toward that very beacon of hope stumbled upon a head of curly blonde hair sticking out from beneath a blanket of warm sand. They were surprised to find him still alive, and he was rushed to their destination: a monastery nestled within Death City, built to house those who devoted every aspect of their lives to serving their Lord, Shinigami-sama.

The lost little boy of the desert, named Justin Law, was accepted into this place as if he were any other brother who took up their own home in this place. After a few days resting in a comfortable bed and taking nourishment into his weary body, he was met by a saintly man who helped him climb out from his place of rest. "Today, Justin…" The man donned in priestly garb spoke to him, "I will introduce you to someone very important."

Justin's eyes were wide as he walked swiftly to keep up with the priest's stride. He held onto the man's hand tightly while following him the entire way through several rows of pews, curious to the grand surroundings of this cathedral. He left a dusting of sand behind him as he walked, still dirty from his time spent wandering in the desert. He bumped into the priest when he stopped to look forward at the altar. Behind the great altar stood a grant mirror embellished with a stunning gold frame, which held the reflection of the Lord. "This is our Lord, we devote our life to serving His cause," the priest spoke, "We are the instruments of His will." The boy's eyebrows furrowed as he squinted to study this image: it appeared to him awfully similar to the vision he wandered toward in the desert.


	2. Chapter 2: Temptation

When the morning sun peeked over the other buildings in Death City, the light shone through several stained glass windows which lined the west side of the cloister. Pictures depicted gnarled crosses reaching skyward from vast fields of sand. The dyes were colors in yellows and blues of various saturation, the swirly patterns were overwhelming to the sense of sight but still quite majestic.

The ward of the cathedral, Justin Law, found himself mesmerized by the manner that glass shaped sunlight into such delightful colors. He stood out in the nave of the cathedral, his eyes followed one set of patterning. That young mind of his hazy after waking up from a deep sleep, his sandals shuffled against the floor as he walked alongside those inviting colors of light cast upon the ground.

He reached the end of the light cast by those stain glass windows. Those wide eyes gazed on into the darkness… there was a casket at the end of the nave, kept company by two pillar candles that burned throughout the night. It was from a wake which took place the evening before, the body itself awaiting burial to take place later in the day. Yet, along with those two lights, there was a third—a larger, flickering light in that same shade of blue as what was cast by those stained glass windows.

Curiously, Justin wandered closer to the light which hovered above the casket. He ignored the gruesome truth that a body lay within while he leaned his body against the wood of that casket, the reflection of that light shining against that polished finish. His arms folded upon the lid while both eyes fixed on that light. A tingle of saliva grew in his mouth, and within the depths of his mind he could hear a voice.

_"Go ahead, take it. Claim it as your own. Devour it. You found it first anyway. Finders, keepers!"_

Justin bit down upon his lower lip briefly before heeding the voice's word. Raising himself to the tips of his toes, he reached out for this ethereal light. The sensation was warm as the tips of his fingers moved closer. A droplet of saliva fell past his lips and onto the casket below.

Before Justin could crawl up onto the casket to take the light within his possession, someone from behind him took hold of the youngster's wrist. Justin screamed out, interrupted from the dreamy trance those lights lead him into. Trembling from the sudden scare, he looked back to see who took his wrist in such an manner.

It was one of the younger monks. Despite being younger, he was approaching the age of thirty by a few years. He still held the disposition of a youthful man; however, perhaps enhanced by the pious lifestyle he led. The monk let go of Justin's wrist to waggle his index finger as he admonished the boy's actions, "You shouldn't allow yourself to become so easily tempted!"

A few tears welled up within the corners of Justin's eyes. Perhaps from being told off in such a manner, or from the strong myrrh incense which billowed out from within the censer that monk held within his other hand. He was shocked: as the strong scent approaching hadn't lulled him out of that trance. The youngster didn't say one thing to the monk as an explanation of his actions, he only stepped aside before running down the length of that nave: heading for the doors which lead outside.

The monk didn't follow him. The casket needed to be prepared for the burial, and he was sure the Justin heeded his strong words of caution. Yet, it was interesting: this young ward from the desert, a Weapon as well?


	3. Chapter 3: Busted!

The monastery had many pilgrims, those who would travel great distances to bask in the glory of the Lord among those who devoted themselves fully to his cause. Today, these visitors would be greeted by a youthful, blonde haired boy dressed in a monk's robe. He hummed cheerfully while holding a bucket filled with dirty mop water, swaying back and forth to the tunes he formed with puckered lips. A bright, red mark had formed upon his forehead, and the taste of iron crept down his throat as he nursed the space where a tooth once had been with his tongue.

One passerby took curious to this sight; such a pleasant young boy burdened with such a filthy task. That man, visiting the monastery's cathedral for a brief prayer, decided to comment: "Why, you're especially cheerful! Have you just completed your chores?"

Justin snapped out of the spell created by those happy tunes to answer the visitor's inquiry. He smiled, showing off that gap in his teeth as he smiled wide, "Foiled again!" This was punishment for his quick little fingers, as he was caught dipping into some of the desserts from the kitchen before dinner was served. The confrontation with one of the priests resulted in a chase and a literal locking of horns: a headbutt among brothers, of such a force which knocked one loose tooth clean from Justin's jaw. They'd yet to recover the tooth which likely dropped between the floorboards or among the pews. Those sweets were traded for a bucket of warm, icky water.

As a priest approached, the expression upon Justin's face formed into something much more serious. He puffed his cheeks out and returned to nursing the bleeding gap with his tongue, allowing his shoulders to slump under the weight of that bucket. He made himself appear helpless to the punishment given to him: certainly, he looked like he was learning a lesson!

It was quite a show for this passerby, as Justin's demeanor soon changed back to one much more cheerful once the priest took his leave. This boy, who arrived to the monastery under mysterious circumstances, was even more cryptic in his mannerisms.

Of course, the priests were sure Justin will grow out of this phase; what an unfortunate assumption for them!


	4. Chapter 4: The Cloistered Life

Even within the first hour after sunset, the desert sky above wore a shroud of stars. Justin had overslept his nap by hours, having fallen asleep in the late afternoon. The heat from the sunlight made it difficult for him to sleep at the hour he was put down for rest. So when he awoke, Justin immediately ventured out on his own, off toward the cloister.

The cloister surrounded a place of reflection, an open-air courtyard. The desert climate did not allow much of a garden to grow, but whatever greenery managed to survive was neatly outlined with garden stones. There were flat, stone structures which provided places to sit or bask peacefully in the sun; or more appropriate for this time of the day, beneath the stars.

This place was usually silent. Tonight, however, was an exception. The sound of jazzy, upbeat music drew Justin further away from the guest dormitories. The courtyard was barren save for one single person: the monk who had caught Justin climbing up onto the casket. Justin darted from column to column in the cloister, only halting behind one when he had approached close enough. He hugged his body against the column before peeking out, observing the monk. To the beats of that music, the monk threw punches. One swift strike after the other, this monk tirelessly practiced his routine while the music played.

Justin's attention moved from the monk and toward that source of music. It was a record player set out on one of the stone benches, the electric cord stretched across the cloister and past an open window. He'd never seen such a thing before in his life, as the music was foreign to his ears as well. For a moment, he looked back to the monk… and then, wandered closer to that source of music. He gripped the backrest and wiggled his sandals off his feet, climbing up to walk across the seat of the bench. The youngster sat himself down next to the record player, watching the platter rotate beneath the needle, which somehow produced music through a pair of speakers. Set nearby was a crate with records filed away within cardboard sleeves. Justin scooted himself closer, and started picking through some of the records. Some of those sleeves were quite worn around the edges… but the images on the sleeves were interesting, at least to Justin.

"Justin Law," The monk spoke up after his final punch was thrown. The sudden way he was addressed caused Justin to jump and lose his grip on that record sleeve, which dropped back into the crate. "I didn't see you at dinner. You weren't too busy getting yourself into trouble, were you?"

It seemed like Justin was building quite the reputation for himself. Having settled down from the scare, his curious fingers moved through those records once again.

"No, I slept for a long time," He answered honestly for once. The monk strolled over to the bench and sat down near Justin. For a moment, the boy looked up toward the monk. This man was quite tall, and somewhat unkempt. It looked as if the man's sandy blonde hair hadn't seen the business end of some scissors for awhile. It was obvious he hadn't shaved in an equal amount of time, either. In this light, he couldn't quite tell the man's eye color, probably hazel or light brown. Still, it was obvious the man spent a great deal of time outside: his skin was tinted a rich shade of tan.

"It must be boring for you," The monk mentioned, "as we have not had a guest your age for some time." He was somewhat sympathetic to the child's disruptive behavior, as there wasn't much else around for him to get into: other than trouble. The monk's cackle sounded like shards of glass grinding through a cement mixer, as he reached over to set a hand upon Justin's head, ruffling his fingers within his curly hair. "But, you don't have to worry now. All the priests have returned to their homes, there's nobody besides us monks and sisters here!"

Justin hummed a monosyllabic response while reaching up for his own head, trying to push that hand away. Once the monk drew his hand away, he went back to picking his way through the records.

The monk inquired, "Do you like music?" To this question, Justin lifted his shoulder to shrug. But if this meant anything to make up for such an indecisive answer,

"I like the music I hear now." One of the record sleeves he'd found was coated in dust. Justin wrinkled his nose briefly and moved to brush his hand clean on the seat of that bench.

"The other monks don't like all the noise in the dormitories. It's something of a pain to bring everything out here. But on nights such as these…" That monk paused to glance toward the night sky. "It is well worth going through such trouble." He smiled after looking away from the sky, lifting his right hand and holding it out to Justin. "My name is Luke. It is nice to meet you, Justin."

A little surprised by the introduction, Justin stared at that palm before offering his own right hand. Luke shook his hand… and then, held on tightly. What happened next was unexpected, at least for Justin. A blade, flat and razor sharp, manifested from the youngster's right forearm. Whatever light was cast from the fixtures which lined the cloister glinted against that metallic blade. Startled, Justin pulled his hand away, shuffling backward until his body met with the backrest.

"Ah hah. So Justin IS a weapon," and this confirmed the monk's previous speculations. Luke, once an accomplished meister within the ranks of Shibusen, knew the boy had only partially transformed. Simply the fact that their wavelengths cooperated well enough was incredible… but what kind of weapon was Justin? That blade looked like it belonged in a butcher's block, but if he was a knife, wouldn't his whole arm transform into the blade? All speculation at this point.

Once Justin was sure the monk wasn't angry or disgusted by this transformation, he returned at ease. The blade sunk back within his forearm. Before he could open his mouth to say another word, the music had screeched to a sudden stop.

A middle-aged woman dressed in a black habit stood in the cloister, wondering just what she'd stepped on: but soon realized it was an electrical cord. She frowned, and looked off to where the cord lead to. "Brother Luke," she addressed him while stepping into the courtyard, picking up Justin's sandals off the ground. Luke raised his hand and waved lazily, without a word to accompany the greeting.

Justin seemed excited enough to see this sister, as it meant he was not going to miss out on dinner after all. He waited until she set down the sandals before him on the ground, and took her hand while he slid off the bench and into those pair of sandals. Without so much as a goodbye, he left with that sister as they walked down the cloister toward the refectory. However, Justin looked over his shoulder to cast a look back at Luke. Surely, this would not be the last time he'd see the man.


	5. Chapter 5: Devotion

Months had passed since Justin's arrival. No person stepped forward to claim a little, lost blonde boy last seen in the deserts. For some unusual reason, Justin did not seem willing in helping his caregivers with locating his family. Whenever the topic was brought up, the boy was suddenly timid. It was eventually accepted that the boy had been abandoned, and now his caregivers were considering a more permanent home for the boy.

Justin sat upon an uncomfortable wooden chair in a priest's office, his hands folded perfectly upon his lap. He tried earnestly to keep his legs from swaying, as his feet didn't quite rest against the floor. The priest sat behind his desk, shuffling through the stacks of papers set out before him. The boy's attention had wandered, to the window in that room: a plain view of the trees outside. He looked over toward the framed paintings on the wall: some old people dressed with incredibly elaborate clothing.

"Justin," That mention of his name caught the boy's attention. His wandering eyes fixed upon the priest once again. "I have good news for you. There is a family willing to take you into their home. You can live with a mother and a father, and have some brothers and sisters," The priest smiled to him, sure the news would be received well.

"I'll… have to leave here?" He quietly asked, those eyes of his wide. The idea of being in such a family… he hated it. Especially if he wasn't the sole child. This living, in comfortable solitude… he'd become accustomed to it, and even enjoyed it. The expression upon the priest's face was now solemn, he was sure any young child would enjoy being showered by the attention of two parents and a family.

"But, Justin…" The priest was interrupted by that boy's sharp words woven with tears.

"I don't want to leave!" He was not going to listen to any reason besides his own. Before the priest could speak, Justin had climbed down from the chair and left the office. He ran off into a direction he didn't normally take off toward: his aimless running lead him to the dormitory where monks dwelled. His running had cooled to a brisk walk, but still quite upset about hearing such news. Most of the room doors were open, besides one dormitory. Justin peeked in as he walked by… only to stop, and have a second glance.

His second glance confirmed the person he thought he saw: Luke. Justin moved closer to the doorframe, spying on this monk once again. It seemed like that monk was practicing his fighting technique once more, throwing punches toward some visualized opponent.

"You're quite nosy, child." The monk mentioned once he realized there was a visitor. Justin stepped out from his hiding place, standing out before the doorframe.

"I was just checking," Justin replied, as he cleared a few tears in his throat with a shuddered sigh. "to see if it was really you." Luke stopped in the middle of his kata, looking back toward the tiny shadow which crossed his doorframe.

"Why, you're a mess, Justin." The monk had observed the trails of tears that streaked down the boy's cheeks. He held out his hands toward Justin, and caught him once the boy invited himself into the room and dashed into those awaiting arms. "What troubles you so?"

"He said, he told me… I was going to leave here!" Returning to that subject from beforehand caused Justin to become more hysterical. His fingers tightened upon that monk's cotton robe, the fibers were coarse to the touch. It seemed to irritate his eyes further as he pressed his face into the cloth.

"You'd rather not?" Luke's inquiry was answered by a vicious shaking of Justin's head. He frowned with that answer, leaning forward to pick Justin up beneath his armpits and lift him up off the ground. The monk hadn't strained the slightest with the boy's weight. He was set down upon the bed in that room, comforted by a few strokes of his hair. "You realize this is a place for the faithful. To live here, you must devote yourself to a life of servitude. I do not think you are at the age to make this decision."

Justin settled down into silence, watching Luke as he spoke. His eyes looked over toward a scar which had dug a deep grove into the skin of the monk's arm. There wasn't a word uttered concerning such a mark. Instead, he stared back up to Luke, not at all convinced with his words. A sigh followed while Luke pulled over a nearby chair, sitting in the seat backward as his arms folded over the backrest. He looked the youngster eye-to-eye, and spoke to him in a calm tone.

"I have a deal to make with you. I can take you into the brotherhood as my novice. I will determine if you are suited to such a lifestyle of devotion." Justin's eyes lit up at this suggestion. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Luke. "—But, there is a catch. If I deem you as unsuited, you must leave here. For good. Forever. I won't give into any tears of yours; you must realize this. What do you say to this?"

Justin eagerly nodded at this proposition, speaking up after swallowing the lump which had grown in his throat. "It's a deal!" He agreed, quite thrilled at such an opportunity. Luke lifted up his closed fist, holding out his fist to Justin with his knuckles out. For a moment, Justin stared toward that fist, confused by the gesture. Slowly, he copied the move, his fist closed tight while he held up his own hand. Luke gently bumped his fist against the smaller set of knuckles and smiled.

"You just leave the priest to me." Luke confirmed with Justin, retracting that hand to lean upon the backrest once again. Some time had passed since a weapon had joined their brotherhood: he was sure this youngster would be a valuable addition to their cause.


	6. Chapter 6: Rites

The addition to the monastery's brotherhood did not go through without argument. Yet, despite such hardships, Luke went through as promised. The day arrived when Justin would take his oath and become accepted as a novice of the monastery. On that morning, the occasion had slipped through the youngster's mind. Justin did not mean any sort of harm by forgetting, but he had woken quite early in the morning to find himself a nice corner of the scriptorium to settle within. There were an infinite amount of texts held within this place—many of which were incredibly too difficult for him to read. Yet, the ones he understood to some extent, offered him interesting insight to the mysteries of the world and the particular occasion of natural life.

By the time a sister entered the scriptorium, the wax from the candle Justin lid had run down the sides of the holders they were planted within. "Justin, you were supposed to start getting ready an hour ago!" She spoke quickly before licking her fingers and snuffing out the candle's flame. Before Justin could utter an explanation, the sister whisked him off to prepare for the ceremony.

After being rushed around the monastery grounds, Justin found himself behind a privacy screen in a dressing room. His humble clothing made from coarse cotton was traded for an elegant, silky chasuble. The garment was mostly black with a detailed, white geometric pattern. There were many layers to the overall outfit, which hung heavy from his own shoulders and arms. It was obvious he hadn't been the first to wear it: as it smelled like it sat folded up in some cellar for an extended amount of time.

"I'm not terribly sure that I'm wearing this right," Justin mentioned to the sister behind the privacy screen as he held out his arms to his sides. The sister pushed back the privacy screen and gave him a brief look-over.

"You look fine," She briskly replied after uncapping a small glass vial of oil. There wasn't enough time to give Justin a proper bath, so she simply smeared the fragrant oil upon the skin of his neck and wrists. At the very least, Justin was glad he no longer smelled of the vestments. The last adornments given to him was a skull cap placed upon his head, and small cape which wrapped around his shoulders. Justin found the garment unusual, as the cape only rest a short length above his elbows.

The sister took Justin's hand and led him out of the dressing room. The layers of his elaborate vestments masked the clumsy movements his feet made while he tried to keep up with the sister while wearing such heavy clothes, it was no wonder such things were only reserved for special occasions.

When the two arrived to the cathedral, there were several people gathered around the altar. Justin recognized most of these faces, and could even associate a name with some of them. There was quite the turn out for this ceremony, but Justin's gaze tried to pick out a certain, special individual from the crowd.

Justin felt some heavy object bump against the top of his own head. When he turned around, he found the person he had been looking for: Brother Luke. The object was a leather-bound book, pages gilded with a certain passage marked out with a bookmark. "You told me you were going to remember the oath by heart," Luke teased while passing the book down to Justin. The youngster did not reply, instead, he darted his tongue past his lips briefly and faced forward. He cradled the book in one arm, reaching up to make sure the skull cap sat correctly upon his head. When a priest gestured Justin to move further toward the altar, he took careful steps and stood in the appropriate place: just as he'd practiced before.

The ceremony started, with most of the witnesses either sitting amongst the pews or standing around the altar. Justin recited his oath with some assistance from the open book he held before him within his arms. The words were long and drawn out with some dramatic emphasis, beckoning to God for His guidance and reciting the vows of the oath he'd hold himself to as a novice. Once the sacred oath was recited, Luke took the book from Justin before the priest conducting this ceremony stepped forward holding a gold-plated chalice. He had read the oath was once completed with drinking of blood: however, the ceremony changed to consuming wine. But in the extraordinary case involving Justin's age, a certain kind of grape juice was used. Justin took a sip from the chalice, and the priest reached forward to blot up the juice which ran beneath his lip. The taste was truly putrid, and he could barely swallow it. At the very least, he refrained from making a sour face for the sake of the ceremony itself.

That priest continued on with reciting the prayers associated with the end of that blood oath. Justin kept his eyes forward, recalling upon the one morning he had been alone in this room with that one light. He had read it was actually a soul—a benevolent soul from an innocent person. In the back of his mind, he wondered what compelled him to prey upon a wholly good soul. As Luke had mentioned: he was a weapon. There was a nagging suspicion he had to confirm with the monk he placed so much trust into: was there a difference between humans and weapons?


End file.
